And in this way,
I for the Duke will woo thee."

Now, fair Yolanda gazed with wide-oped eyes,
And checked sweet breath for wonder and surprise;
Then laughed full blithe and yet, anon, did frown,
And with slim fingers plucked at purfled gown:

"And is it thou--a sorry Fool," she cried.
"Art sent to win this mighty Duke a bride?"

"E'en so!" quoth he. "Whereof I token bring;
Behold, fair maid, Duke Joc'lyn's signet ring."
"Heaven's love!" she cried. "And can it truly be
The Duke doth send a mountebank like thee,
A Fool that hath nor likelihood nor grace
From worn-out shoon unto thy blemished face--
A face so scarred--so hateful that meseems
At night 't will haunt and fright me with ill dreams;
A slave so base--"

"E'en so!" Duke Joc'lyn sighed,
And his marred visage 'neath his hood did hide.
"But, though my motley hath thy pride distressed,
I am the Fool Duke Joc'lyn loveth best.
And--ah, my lady, thou shalt never see
In all this world a Fool the like of me!"

Thus spake the Duke, and then awhile stood mute,
And idly struck sweet chords upon his lute,